what is linear order?

you ask me to tell it in
linear order.
I am here,
I have survived
time and aged
in linear order.
my proof in
endless strength,
my brimming veins .
I’m growing more
lush for it;
for a river that
floods    you know I’m dense,
ice cold, flush with
sharp tongue, yet
maintaining a sense of
dam and containment
even in my most berating
fits of temper, of panic,
I manage to remain
frozen these days.
you say I am
but underneath my skin:
a carnise river,
little tributaries to
the turning of the world
in linear order.
and you say
full of bitter.

you and I are from
the same linear order.
I am now caked in blood
and dead and ghost
as I am blinking
wet, jet-black eyelashes,
nearly drowned by self
frosted near the bank;
shivering, but alive.
has anyone ever told you
there is no time?
I am the ending
and the way I tell it
is the proof
that I survive.
the way I realized things
unfolding in chaos,
in grief,
in backwards
post processing and
is the magic of truth
in revival.

you demand cogency?
I am walking
linear order.
the way I tell it is
the way I watched it
unfold in real life.
in real time.
in the end, my gown will be
doused in the close shouts of
someone else you love.
I will be draped in
the slow and constant drip
of her;
the residue of
skinned bones rouging
my cheeks with their sudden
red cries that blossom into
spells I weave into crown;
rest on my head
like a prize
as I am laid against
my slain and coffined
in confession before I
rise again.
but you should know–
so I’m writing it.

you should know the truth
as it happens and the
past as it really
and me, risen:
growing full of hell
with each new

“warning thorns”


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